Stolen Ice: Epilogue
by Aesla
Summary: Slice-of-life two-shot, set just over two years after the events of Stolen Ice. E.J. and Anna have different lives now, but that doesn't mean they've completely abandoned their heisty hijinks.
1. EJ

_The epilogue (slice-of-life-esque two-shot) to Stolen Ice, so... this isn't going to make any sense unless you've read that. So go read that! Or continue cluelessly! I don't own Frozen, Anna, Elsa, or anything Disney, unless you count the VHS tapes from my childhood._

* * *

><p><strong>Two and a Half Years Later<strong>

"Hey pretty baby with the high heels on—"

E.J. ducked gracefully away from her conversation with the congressman in the black bow tie, faking a sip at her glass. She whispered harshly, "A—"

"You give me fever like I've never, ever known!"

"Hush right now! Someone will hear you!"

"You're just a product of loveliness—"

E.J. scanned the glitterati in the room with a drooping eye and meandered toward the head of the carpeted staircase. Hors d'oeuvres laden servers glided in and out of clumped guests; a string ensemble plucked and slid bows over rich wooden instruments in the burgundy carpeted foyer; soft lights glimmered from chandeliers; patrons bid exorbitantly at the silent auction; the theatre manager flit about like a genial gerbil on crack, racing toward the security head and then back to the president of the auction house.

She hoped her jetlag wasn't too obvious, juxtaposed so crudely against the resplendence.

The 2016 North American Precious Gems Showcase radiated bejeweled elegance, such that it seemed to seep from the pores of the black-tie attired guests like some pungent eau de cologne, selling for a hundred dollars an ounce. E.J., upon Kai's insistence, had been sent to schmooze the Chicago bourgeoisie. Her least favorite part of her new career involved schmoozing, where supposedly innocuous phrases were loaded with an undercurrent of political favors, sycophantic assurances, and 'scratch-my-back I'll-scratch-yours' implications. Though she'd had an expert teacher on the mingling, E.J. still sometimes wondered if being the face of a non-profit boded well for a natural introvert.

Once upon a time, her job had involved _stealing_ money. Technically, that was still her job, but she didn't steal as much, or nearly as often. Instead, she _asked_ for it: reduced to pitching tax write-offs as donations for in-progress children's homes. Her detailed, diplomatic nature flourished under such circumstances; though her other side, the side simmering below her skin, itching to be released in a charged bolt, the side that thrived in freefall from buildings… it had been relegated to the backburner.

Not that it wasn't still used, just less frequently. She had dependents now, and conversely, people she depended on. She would never give up the exhilarating physicality of ropes and harnesses, but emotional factors held precedence over reckless feats of daredevilry. She had family now, responsibilities.

She was thankful to finally have a reason to be careful.

Instead of swinging from rafters in a floor-length gown and high heels, she simply admired the displays of the participating retailers: Cartier, Tiffany, Autore, Graff, Harry Winston, Piaget, Bulgari and Chopard. Despite her fatigue, her eyes widened at the gems on display. Like Christmas come early.

Static crackled in her ear, and the feminine voice that had been humming a pop song surged with greater bravado than originally sung:

"I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress!"

"You should," E.J. mumbled, strolling casually by a row of Bucellatti bracelets. The display plaque estimated a net worth of twenty-five thousand each, topazes and sapphires and rubies twinkling, prismic luminescence in the soft light of the candelabra. "You helped pick it out."

"You used to like it when I serenaded you," Anna reverted to her murmur-turned-whisper, losing her levity. E.J. had been listening to the nuances of her partner's vocals for three years now, and knew that Anna wasn't upset at her chiding. She was more likely surrounded by guests or servers, and unable to continue with her song.

E.J. couldn't help but grin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while surreptitiously checking her flesh-colored ear piece. "Well, when your voice is embedded in my ear canal, ignoring you is quite the task."

She heard Anna sigh over their short wave frequency.

"No one ever told me the magic would fade so quickly."

"There is no shortage of magic in our relationship," E.J. rebutted. "Perhaps you just need to work a little harder."

E.J. spotted a bobbing head of copper down on the main floor of the theatre lobby. She raised a champagne flute filled with sparkling white grape juice to her mouth, and spoke over the lip of the glass: "Variety is the spice of life."

"The last time I introduced some 'spice' I slept on the couch for a week."

"We can't very well join the _mile high club _if I'm piloting the damn jet!"

"Isn't that what autopilot's for?"

E.J. scoffed prettily and mumbled, "Hardly for a quickie in the cockpit."

"Miss Arendelle?"

A blush crawled up from her exposed sweetheart neckline, but, like the true professional she was, E.J. gathered herself and faced the gentleman at her shoulder.

"Yes, congressman?"

"Could I steal you away for another moment? I'd love to know your thoughts on Cartier's commission for the Maharaja."

"The 1929 release, or the earlier necklace? Cartier was rumored to have set the emeralds, but the provenance is outrageously shoddy for such an expensive piece."

"Good God! I didn't know there were two on display! Please, if you don't mind my wife needling you with further jeweled inquiries."

"Only if you don't mind me needling you about the tax levies for the new home on the south side."

"Party politics?"

"Politics _at_ a party, sir," E.J. smiled demurely.

"How a woman of your age runs a company like you do, plus jewel histories on the side—"

"Women do enjoy their trinkets, congressman."

"You've too much talent for such a young mind."

"Boy, does she," Anna cut in over the ear piece. "There's this one thing she does, _inverted_ if you can believe it—"

"Thank you, sir!" E.J. choked out, Anna's teasing-induced coughing fit triggering a handful of raised brows from the congressman and his peers.

"Are you quite well, dear?" the congressman's wife asked.

"Yes, pardon me," E.J. said, nerves churning and building under the stares of the guests surrounding the Maharaja's display. She wouldn't go so far as to call herself proficient at grifting, but she'd successfully run a handful of cons when paired one-on-one with a mark, under Anna's insistent tutelage. But with crowds of people… well, she liked to stick with what she knew: "As… ehem, as I was telling you, congressman, there's the expected paper trail on the 1929 commission. But the older piece, 'The Elephant Diamond' as it was called—"

"Let's do this, I've got class in the morning. On my mark," Anna said over the E.P.

"—was actually worn by the Maharaja's transport elephant, the one he would ride during processionals. It was displayed at the crown of the pachyderm's skull, with enough rubies trailing down to dangle over the top of the beast's trunk! But the British government seized the necklace upon England's withdrawal from India in the forties. It ended up at Christie's auction house in London, and sold for something like eleven million—oh!"

"Oh, no, nonononono! I'm so sorry, mam'!"

The serving tray landed with a thud on the carpet. Alcohols of significant expense drenched the front of E.J's royal purple gown, staining the fabric and eliciting a series of gasps from the spectators surrounding the nearer displays. E.J. had to jump back to keep champagne flutes and heavy glass tumblers from crushing her toes.

"Oh, mam', my apologies, I'm so, so sorry!" The serving girl looked close to tears, frizzied hair sticking out at weird angles from her tight bun, thick, black-rimmed glasses charmingly askew. She blotted the carpet with a rag, but made little headway in mopping up the mess.

"Oh, God, your dress!" Adding fuel to the fire of her social gaffe, the serving girl proceeded to paw at E.J. with a white towel, practically copping a feel in front of a congressman, two company vice-presidents, and a head designer for _Vogue_.

"That's _quite_ alright," E.J. gritted her teeth, and forcibly removed the hand patting at her abdomen. "I'm sure the restroom attendant has some club soda that can set this right. Ladies, gentleman, if you'll excuse me. Congressman, I haven't forgotten you. Expect a call from our offices," she warned, strutting out of the showroom while the lights dimmed infinitesimally.

E.J. gathered up her skirts and slipped down the marbled staircase, drops of _something_ slipping down her forearm and onto her hand. It left a sticky trail on her arm's interior, and she vaguely wondered if that would effect her performance later. The floor manager took one look at her, then at the unfortunate serving girl slinking behind her. He intercepted the server and yanked her over to the side, face spasming with enraged tics. E.J. couldn't be bothered with the poor girl's fate, not when she needed to locate the bathroom.

"Excuse me," E.J. began, finding the nearest beefy dude with a buzz cut and an earpiece. "Directions to the ladies' room, please?"

The security officer took one look at E.J., who sported a gaping neckline with wet silk glued to her abdomen. Either he was experiencing dry mouth, or didn't know where the restroom was.

Good thing she already did.

"Sir?"

"D-D-Down the second staircase, take a right in the lower hall."

"Thank you."

The man grunted an affirmative and E.J. saw his head cock to the side in a gilded decorative mirror. He watched her swaying hips as she walked away.

She had to gnaw on her lip to stifle the giggle threatening to erupt. It wasn't like she was blatant about it, not like Anna. That's just how she _walked_ in heels. The smugness bit… well, she would blame that one on Anna. Instead of taking the directed right at the bottom of the staircase, E.J. kept going straight down the hallway, then slipped through a pair of double doors. She removed her heels so they wouldn't _click clack_ on the hard concrete surface, plush carpet forgone in the tech area underneath the stage. She hitched a left in the staff corridor and had almost made it to the abandoned dressing rooms when a small hand emerged from the recesses of a broom closet and yanked her inside.

Buzzing hydrogen bulbs and the scent of Lemon Pledge wafted in the air. Toilet cleaning products and yellow rubber gloves sat on a shelf at her immediate left. The handle of a plunger hung from a hook at eye level.

What an utterly romantic reunion.

"Got a little handsy back there," E.J. scolded. "Try not to be so overly familiar next time."

"As if you didn't _love_ it."

"Did they fire you?"

"It was my first night, they could've given me a break!" Anna huffed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What does that bring the number up to, now?"

"Including or excluding the time I masqueraded as that river boat captain?"

"God, not that again—"

"Total firings brought up to… I think it's only three. Which is a fair percentage if you take into account the number of jobs we run," Anna grinned maniacally up at E.J., cheeks flushed with giddiness and eyes filled with adoration.

"Hey there, stranger," she said.

"Hello," E.J. smiled.

Anna threw her arms around E.J.'s neck and pulled her into a tight embrace. E.J. placed her hands on Anna's hips, fingers finding purchase at the hem of her younger sibling's black shirt. Anna smelled of almond liquor and cherries, and looked a shade tanner than she had since before E.J. left. Anna released her, but didn't drop her hands. She instead opted for toying with the soft baby hairs at the nape of E.J.'s neck.

"It was only two weeks, Anna."

"I know, but I wanted to come with you."

"Really?" E.J. asked, a skeptical brow inching heavenward. "You wanted to fly back and run a job on a jet lagged body? And before that, sit through a week's worth of board meetings in Accra, with no air conditioning mind you, and traipse about in stifling heat scouting building sites?"

"It's no hotter than back at home."

"Debatable, as it's a different kind of heat. Besides, you had class."

"I know. I'm just ready for summer vacation is all," Anna returned, eyes flicking down to the front of her dress. "And then you show up wearing _that_. God, it killed me to spill drinks on something that beautiful."

"There's such a thing as dry-cleaning."

"I know, but E.J., it's just… I knew it would look good, but I didn't know it would look _that_ good."

She stepped back as best she could in the tiny closet, hands trailing down E.J.'s exposed arms to grab her bare hands. Anna took stock of the woman in purple, eyes trailing a smoldering path down the blonde's body, fingers unconsciously compressing pressure points at E.J.'s wrists. And it walloped E.J. all of a sudden, that she hadn't seen Anna in _two whole weeks._

She groaned, and squeezed Anna's hands to indicate her mutual frustration.

"Ugh… not now, Anna. We're on a bit of a schedule. You, more so than me if you're catching that red eye."

"We've still got two hours."

"You want to risk getting stopped by TSA at O'Hare? That'll set you back at least half an hour, so let's get going." E.J. turned to the side, giving herself more room to change. She watched Anna's eyes shift away, checking into 'job mode' before she'd even received a proper greeting.

_Bad form, Anna._

"Okay, I've got your stuff—hmph!"

E.J. released Anna from a stealthy, smacking kiss, fingers curling over the handles of her beloved duffel.

"Well hello, gorgeous," E.J. commented toward the bag.

"Wow, uhm, thanks for the—hey!" Anna propped her fists on her hips, indignant pout marring her features. "You were talking to the bag again, weren't you?"

"You're just as pretty," E.J. teased, but cast a playful look back towards the unzipped bag of tricks.

"Very funny," Anna said, unamused.

"Jealous? You're the one that gets to help me undress."

"And don't you forget it," Anna threatened, aiming a wayward kick at the inanimate bag.

Anna shortly located the button-hook at the back of the dress and pulled the zipper down. The dress was discarded and replaced with black pants and a tight black tee, E.J.'s trademark gloves on her hands and the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Anna had already changed, white button-up crumpled in the yellow mop bucket, black shirt and black catering pants already in place. Anna had removed the grate with a power drill, and all that remained was a quick trip through the vents to the secure holding area for the bigger auction items.

"Ready?" E.J. inquired.

"Always."

"You're going to make me go in ahead of you, right?"

"It's like you know me or something," Anna retorted with a salacious grin. "Let's get to it!" Anna slapped her butt as E.J. bent down toward the grate, shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation.

"And you wonder why I like the duffel bag more," E.J. grumbled, Army-crawling through the narrow passage.

"So… we're still doing the volcano tours, right?"

"Yes, Anna."

"And you've made the reservations at the B&B?"

"Yes, Anna."

"And you're clear with the control tower in Reykjavik?"

"Unless that volcano you're so inclined to see starts spewing ash, everything's ago."

"I'm sorry. You're transferring your type-A sensibilities onto me. I used to be so carefree!"

"I think you were always some type of A," E.J. retorted.

"Amazing, aesthetically-pleasing, adorable—"

"Arrogant, aggressive—"

"Hey!"

"But awful all the same."

"You get a pass for that because you've been gone for work," Anna replied. "Don't make me take away your tablet again."

"Surely I can't be in trouble after I brought you a present…"

"You brought me a present?!" Anna squealed like a piglet.

"Anna, volume," E.J. warned, pausing at the grate before her.

"There's no constant physical security this far in. I don't have to be as quiet."

"No need for carelessness. You know as well as I they're doing patrols."

"Sorry, I'm just—"

"I know. I missed you, too."

E.J. stuck her hand back over her body, unable to turn her head in the constricting space of the duct. But she felt the warmth, and the pressure, of Anna's paint-splattered and calloused hand holding her own. Her younger sister brushed a thumb over her knuckle. Anna had taken to calling the gesture a "hand hug". Because E.J.'s hands had been covered up for so long, Anna explained. They deserved sensation, too, benign touch, emphatic touch, comforting, vulnerable, insistent touch.

E.J. conjectured Anna just liked to hold her hand.

She released Anna and checked the corners of the rectangular fitting.

"Phillips."

She snapped soundlessly for Anna to hand over the tool. Four loose screws later, the pair plopped down into a large room, outfitted with labeled bookcases and shelves, numbered boxes, and, the least glaring but most dangerous detail of the space, a series of sixteen motion-sensing transceivers attached at strategic intervals on the far walls, with an invisible laser grid no doubt crisscrossing over the ten glass cases raised on blocks at the end of the room. She and Anna were free to take the unalarmed lots from the shelves on the room's near side, which had been their plan from the beginning.

No more stealing the big pieces.

No matter how much she wanted to, she didn't need them anymore. A handful of diamond bracelets and a few pairs of opal, pearl, and ruby earrings would fetch the necessary funds for the start-up in Ghana, no matter how stunning that tiara in the middle of the laser grid looked.

No matter how stunning Anna would look wearing it.

_Oh, what the hell._

"Anna, can you give me a piece of that gum?"

"In your bag, second inside pocket. I'm just thankful you've expanded your preferences from Bubblemint to Wintergreen," Anna replied, working a tension wrench and raking her pick in the keyhole of one of the boxes. The _snick_ of the released tumbler sounded and Anna gently lifted the lid to appraise the box's contents.

"Yes, yes, yes, hell yes, pass and… why not?" she said, placing rings and bracelets into a soft velvet bag. She slipped one gorgeous midnight sapphire onto her middle finger and surveyed its position on her knuckle.

"What do you think?" Anna asked, wiggling the bejeweled digit before her. She affected a nasal English accent, and flicked her wrist forward for perusal. "Rivals the clarity of the fabled Blue Carbuncle, wouldn't you agree Watson?"

"How do you know the Carbuncle isn't real?" E.J. asked with a goading tilt of the lips. "Perhaps it's been stolen." She popped a stick of Orbit in her mouth and began chewing.

Anna's jaw dropped, the younger girl throwing cheeky glances between the ring on her finger and a teasing E.J. "You didn't!"

"Of course I didn't," E.J. said easily, plucking a diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet from its perch. "But if it was real, don't think I wouldn't. And _I_ would definitely be Holmes. You'd be Watson."

"You can be Holmes if I can be Irene Adler."

"You read me those stories, I thought he hated her."

"Such a thin line, sweetheart. As we well know," Anna finished, eyes trained on the crushed velvet display boxes she was presently relieving of their wares.

"Laser thin, you think?" E.J. asked.

Anna turned to face her. "E.J.?"

"Do we still have a bottle of spray deodorant in there?" E.J. inquired.

"Maybe one of the travel containers, but it's Dove! I paid like, ten bucks for that."

"Awe, poor little rich girl," E.J. said, uncapping the aerosol canister. She sprayed liberally, green laser lines appearing in the air, running indiscriminately in diagonal, horizontal, and vertical vectors. Not so much grid as incomprehensible web.

At least they're not mobile.

"Do we really have time for this? Patrol will be back by in… three minutes!" Anna tapped the digital countdown at her wrist. "And you said hairspray will set off the alarms for laser grids because the particles—"

"This is a cheaper system. Portable receivers attached to the walls. Theatres wouldn't have such advanced security," E.J. said from her crouched position. "Do you doubt me?"

"No, but I know when you haven't done anything outlandish and risky in a while you like to push your limits. I recall yelling at you to get off the top of the damn Pyramid one evening when you said you had been, and I quote 'rather wound up'. You were practically covered in pigeon poop."

"I was not _covered_, but I was wound up," E.J. said, walking forward on the flats of her palms.

She arched her back into a front walkover, pirouetting gently as she sprayed mist about her. The laser lines appeared more distinct under the chemical mist, navigability significantly easier with clearer sight lines. The spray deodorant made for a denser cloud than hairspray, but the particles weren't as heavy. She'd learned that lesson the hard way in the middle of a laser web in Cairo when the hairspray had rendered the floor sticky. Jane (for she had been Jane, then) had little traction, and the guards were mere feet from her. Since then, she'd taken to carrying the spray antiperspirant, despite Anna's objection to the expense of the product.

E.J. extended her right leg, develope into lunging crouch, and then tucked into a forward somersault, curving spine _just_ missing a horizontal laser line about a foot off the ground. She uncurled herself once she reached the glass display case, and used the glass cutter Anna had stuck in her back pocket to cut a circular hole large enough for the slim diadem to fit through.

"You know those are armed with counterweight alarms."

"Yes," E.J. said airily, placing the flat of the glass-cutter blade across the counterweight trip panel. She retrieved the tiara and placed it on the crown of her head with one hand, all the while pressing the alarm panel down with the blade.

"That thing's got to weigh at least three pounds," Anna commented.

"Have you scientifically tested the tensile strength of chewing gum, Anna?"

"What do you think? I know chewing gum can't hold a five pound dumbbell."

"All about surface area, sweetheart," E.J. said. She spat the chewing gum into her hand and flattened the gooey mess across the tiny square panel, smushing it in place until the gum stuck to the outer edges and held the alarmed counterweight panel in place. As if the tiara had never even moved.

"Very good, but you've still only got a minute and a half before security shows back up," Anna said, chucking their bags and pilfered precious stones up into the open vent of the duct system.

Thirty seconds later, E.J. stood before her, tiara twirling on her finger.

"Show off," Anna muttered, placing a boot in E.J.'s intertwined hands. E.J. boosted her skyward, then passed the tiara up to Anna.

"You adore it."

"You shouldn't indulge me. Or, spoil me, for that matter," Anna said, carefully placing the tiara atop her head.

"But you wear it so well! You're sure you've never fancied yourself in some little known royal family somewhere? Invaded State functions? Crashed coronations?" E.J. asked, pulling her foot into the duct just as the jingle of keys from the security guard could be heard down the hallway.

"No, but I do have a tediously detailed family tree I manufactured going back generations into Prussia that keeps me pretty stable as an eccentric duchess. If I ever need to get into upscale European parties, you know."

"Of course, why wouldn't you?"

They paused at the junction of the duct just as Anna's watch beeped, signaling the silent alarm that had doubtlessly been triggered behind them.

"That's my cue," Anna said.

E.J. tossed over her own collected prizes from the evening.

"I've got your harness in the rafters, and I've double looped the anchor cord to the fire escape. Remember, the load-bearing carabineer—"

"E.J., stop worrying. You've shown me a hundred times, I got it," Anna insisted. "The taxi's waiting for me now. Go give them your alibi, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Right, hurry then," E.J. said, angling toward the left turn in the duct, Anna toward the right.

"Hey, I love you," Anna said. Anna pressed a quick kiss to E.J.'s cheek. The pair of girls sat on all fours in the ducts, the space not quite conducive to cozy departing exchanges.

"You, too. I'll see you in a few hours."

They parted ways in the corridor, E.J. speeding through the passages with knowledgeable and practiced ease. She silently popped the grate to the side vent in the ladies' room, careful to bring down the bottle of club soda Anna had placed there two days prior during the initial recon of the place. She flipped quietly down into the empty corner stall and held her gown in hand, black clothing gone, underthings covered by a shimmery satin slip. She poured the club soda onto the stained dress and wiped furiously with toilet paper, listening to flushes and faucets, the awkward conversation of offered lotions and towels from the bathroom attendant.

"Well, this is a disaster," E.J. grunted, emerging in naught but her slip from the stall.

The attendant double-taked, furrowing her brow at E.J.'s half-dressed state.

"Miss, did you—"

"Do you have another bottle of club soda? I'm trying to do what I can for the stain, but I fear it's ruined."

"No, miss. I can go ask the bartender, if you need it—"

"No, no that's quite alright. That blaring nonsense outside, and the dress, I think the universe is conspiring against me."

"That sounds like the building alarm—"

"Fire?" E.J. asked anxiously. "We need to get out of here!"

"I don't think so—"

"Well, I'm not sticking around to find out. I've been in this bathroom wrestling with the gown long enough. Could you help me get it zipped back?"

E.J. stepped into the silk and the attendant zipped her in tightly. As she exited the restroom, cacophony filled her ears: people were confusedly spinning, security was swarming, and sirens were blaring from outside the foyer, drowning out the stubborn strings music.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a uniformed officer stood at the entrance of the building, holding his hands up over the crowd for attention. "Someone triggered the silent alarm in the lower secure area, and several pieces have turned up missing. As per protocol, we are treating these events as a robbery in progress. If you could all be patient and answer any questions our officers have, we can get this whole affair wrapped up shortly."

During the collective gasp of the Chicago upper-crust, E.J. bit back a groan. That was the thing about going straight: she had to show face and deliver a convincing cover story. Couldn't just slip out like a thief in the night.

Because she wasn't that anymore. A thief in the night.

* * *

><p>Mulling over the too-appropriate metaphor, E.J. spent the next three hours waiting for her statement to be taken: "Just ask the congressman, or the restroom attendant, my dress was ruined by one of the servers! I was in the ladies room when I head the sirens, and no, I didn't see anything. I was nowhere near the lower levels! I've been covered in alcohol for the last five hours and would like nothing more than to go home and change. If we could wrap this up, officer?"<p>

It took another hour for the taxi to get her to the private airfield, but thank goodness Dennis had everything prepared for the jet.

"Rough night, E.J.?"

"You wouldn't believe it. Clear skys to Memphis? Anna caught a Delta flight down a few hours ago."

"Smooth sailing, on the forecast and instrument readings. And thanks again for this chauffeuring gig, helping me log my final hours before I go trans-Atlantic."

"Of course. I had no desire to be piloting this late in the evening. Do we still have a change of clothes in the back cabin?

"I think Anna used them the last time we flew. Remember? She was sopping from that canoe trip you two were hell bent on taking."

E.J. sighed lethargically.

"We learned our lesson quickly enough, so no comments from the peanut gallery, okay?"

"Just sit back and get some shut eye, I'll buzz the intercom when we're ready to land," Dennis said with a salute. "They'll be a company car waiting to take you home when we arrive."

"Thank you, Dennis."

* * *

><p>E.J. trudged, heavy-footed and bleary-eyed into her home, tossed her heels at the door, and tore the dress from her body. The dawning arc of the sun shined off the water and the steam-rolled delta land. Morning light dribbled in through the west-facing view in the mansion on Riverside Drive, motes of dust visible in the light streaks.<p>

She tip-toed into her room and traded her slip for stretchy booty shorts and a black sports bra. Hair wound up in its usual braid, E.J. opened the windows and greeted the morning with Warrior one through four, and then went on to more advanced poses, stress melting off her shoulders like snowcones at the beach.

E.J. exhaled deeply, eyes opening to the view before her. Somewhat tragic, somewhat full circle, but beautifully serene all the same. The water rolled on and time ticked by, and her life seemed an illusion of anything she could have dreamed up five years previously.

After an easy cool down, she rolled her shoulders to work out any lingering kinks, and headed into the kitchen to measure out the grounds for the morning coffee. With a wave of her hand she activated the preset timer, knowing Anna would be up in a few hours.

She yanked the bra from her torso and collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to tunnel under the covers.

E.J. was still more than a little stressed about the repercussions of her presence during the Chicago theft, as well as plans to move forward on the children's home in Ghana. There had been backlash from the school board about the selected curriculum in the NOLA home not integrating with the national Common Core, and she'd have to finagle with that Southside senator sometime soon. She felt tense, internally discombobulated from her trans-Atlantic flight, and maybe a little sore from not stretching properly prior to her excursion in the vents. She was dog-tired, and utterly unprepared for the newspaper interview the following morning.

Anna rolled over on the other side of the mattress, muttering in her sleep. She grunted, and tossed the sheet toward E.J.'s body, snuggling (as was her habit) under E.J.'s left side. Somehow, her right arm settled into position on Anna's hip, and E.J.'s mind stopped swirling. She was jetlagged. She was stressed. Nervous, and definitely a little overwhelmed with all the events piling up around her.

But in her bed, in her home, with her love in her arms, she was also outrageously, indescribably happy.

* * *

><p><em>I've developed a new genre: huff. Stand for, heistfluff. Or maybe fleist? Which sort of sounds like an improperly articulated dog-breed, but whatever. Read on for Anna's pov of the epilogue, and reviews appreciated!_


	2. Anna

Anna woke with the dawn.

She felt the bed dip, and she groaned, then tunneled into the warmth on the right side of the mattress as was her custom. Two weeks without that warmth, without that buzz, was far, far too long.

Sleep returned until the alarm blared at seven and the scent of bacon floated from her bedside. She flopped over, the sheets twisted about her frame, and silenced it before E.J. could be disturbed.

But who was she kidding? E.J. still slept with one eye open.

"Hmmm… hey."

"Hey," Anna whispered.

"…time is it?"

"Seven."

"Hmmm… wanna… breakfast?"

"No, you sleep."

"But I wanna—"

"Still jetlagged, remember?"

"Ummmhmmmm."

"Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when I get back."

Anna rolled back over and sat up, feet dangling inches from the floor. She lifted her arms above her and yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with fisted hands.

She was about to stand but found herself bound, E.J.'s arms wrapped securely around her waist from behind.

"I've got to go, sweetheart."

"Five more minutes," E.J. protested.

"You won't even know I'm gone."

"I'll know. I always know."

"Hey—"

"Anna—"

Good morning kiss. Sloppy. Half-conscious. Smelly breath.

Perfect nonetheless.

"I'm going to get ready. You sleep, and I'll see you in a few hours."

"…love you."

"Yeah, you do," Anna answered.

Up and out of the bedroom, she spent the next twenty minutes listening to a local PBS broadcast, sipping coffee on the screened-in porch. Well, balcony-turned-porch. The early hour combined with the whirring ceiling fan alleviated what she knew was a terribly swampy morning. A bullhorn sounded from a transport barge, low and quaking over the churning river waters. Anna smiled, and plunked her head back against the linked chains of the porch swing, utterly content.

The Chicago heist had gone off swimmingly.

E.J. was back.

She was finishing classes today.

The kids were singing at the game.

They were going on vacation in two days time.

It was just so… nice.

She finished her coffee and rinsed her mug in the sink, sneaking one final glance at the darkened bedroom before she headed out. Anna wanted to go to her, to deliver one last embrace, one more reassuring, affectionate peck on the cheek. But she stopped herself.

These recurring absences had her heart growing fonder and fonder, and sappier for the distance. Surely she'd be fed up with E.J.'s late nights; OCD organization of the house; her confounding glasses, both sexy and nerdy beyond all reason, perched primly on the tip of her nose while she flicked screens across her tablet. She'd bristle at E.J.'s incessant clean-streak (for when her minimalism and Anna's pack-rat tendencies met in the one household, there'd been heated sparks… actual sparks). Anna would tire of E.J.'s worry, of her misguided feelings of inadequacy. She'd staunch E.J.'s persistence, late nights with paperwork behind the desk or early mornings with Anna on their mattress, again and again, working until she achieved the desired result.

Well, maybe not on their mattress.

But the point still stood.

Instead of encroaching upon her lover's slumber, Anna found herself propped against the doorjamb, just watching the woman sleep.

Serene.

Unburdened.

Content.

Yes, Anna deduced. They were both very, very much content.

* * *

><p>She pulled the Porsche from the garage on Riverside and headed east, away from the river. She bypassed the Orpheum and the FedEx Forum, downtown Beale Street and the Mississippi River fading into her rearview like a shadow at twilight. A few turns and an exit onto Poplar, and she was heading into Midtown. Into class. And, even though she was leaving E.J., she was happy to go to her job. It felt right, doing something for herself. Right or… regular?<p>

Something she never thought she'd have.

Satisfaction.

Her life, normal for her, irregular for others, and all of the happiness and upsets that went along with it.

Content.

* * *

><p>"So how was class?" E.J. asked.<p>

Anna had returned exhausted, but hadn't the mind to tidy herself up after the ordeal. The students had been relentless on this, their final session. She'd barely escaped with her life let alone her sanity. Instead of cleaning herself directly, she decided to add a little more grime to her body since her shirt was already stained with paints. She sat in her patch of soil where budding green tomatoes hung from a chicken wire trellis; baby summer squashes burst from running vines; plump okra pods awaited harvest; sunflowers, ten-foot tall and imposing, curled over themselves to watch the line of moonvine plants growing below them.

All in all, a quite impressive rooftop garden, for a mansion on the Memphis riverside.

All hand-grown and toiled for, by Anna, up to her elbows in potting soil and mulch, dirt smeared over one freckly, blotched cheek.

"Class went as well as expected," Anna sighed, shoving her spade into the dry earth. With the sun as direct as it was, and the rain as fickle as any season before, Anna knew she'd have to put out the sprinkler system before their vacation departure. Anna could set an irrigation timer so Olaf would remember to water everything, even if she and E.J. were an ocean away.

Handy, having a digitally sentient butler of sorts.

"How do you mean?" E.J. asked, propping herself on the swing Anna had inhabited that very morning. She held a poorly fashioned ceramic mug in an ungloved palm and took generous sips. Mint tea, Anna imagined. E.J. swayed lazily, now that it was afternoon, now that she'd gotten some uninterrupted zzz's.

Perhaps E.J. had worked off some of that jetlag.

"Oh, the usual. Had to finish up with Michel Cheveruel's debated influence on Seurat, with the dyed tapestry hues and his understanding of the color wheel… as a chemist, you know. That deviated into a side lecture on retinal persistence, which, with all of the sketching students, was just so _boring_ for them. Honestly, if they want to graduate from pencil lines to Neoimpressionism, they've got to try harder. I can't do anything for them unless they put forth a conscious effort," Anna finished, burying the spade in the earth with frustrated force.

"So… fingerpaints for the three-year-olds, water colors for the first graders?" E.J. supplied knowingly.

"They were so cute in their plastic aprons!" Anna cooed, tucking her trowel into her bucket of gardening tools. She wiped a gloved hand over her sweaty brow, then picked up the kit and headed toward E.J. Stepping inside the screened balcony porch, she stomped her boots on the mat and dusted her gloved hands.

"You had better sweep that up before we leave tomorrow," E.J. said, casting a baleful glance at the dirt underfoot.

"Yes, _mom_," Anna answered, though the joke landed flat when she scanned the river view. The silence stretched, and Anna felt E.J.'s impending question settle upon her as heavily as the humidity.

"Anna…"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think they would be… that they would understand… there's just so much that's happened—"

"We'll never know, E.J.," Anna answered, uneager to contemplate 'what-ifs'. "Not really. We can't... shouldn't worry ourselves over something uncontrollable."

"I suppose you're right."

"You don't have to sound so happy about it," Anna tried again for levity, quirking a corner lip skyward.

E.J. didn't let the somber mood linger, and Anna was thankful for it.

"You're all set for this afternoon?"

"Yep. I'm not the one that has to do anything, though."

E.J. tutted her displeasure. "So you're sequestering yourself to the box, then?"

"Oh, I was gonna go with the kids and sit in the outfield. Let you have the box. It'll be quieter for the interview—"

"Meanwhile, I'm left to deal with the blithering monkeys at _The Commercial Appeal_. I've never been interviewed before, Anna. I don't know… I mean, I know we've practiced, but what if they ask about something we haven't covered?"

"They won't, it's just a business profile for the company. The one they run every Sunday. You're ready, you can do it. It's not a front-page story anymore, you know that, right?" Anna asked, sliding into place at the end of the swing. She lifted E.J.'s bare feet into her overall-clad lap, and patted them with a reassuring, albeit, sweaty palm. "The paper will have no reason to go digging too deeply into your personal life. There's always the devious 'no comment'. They'll hate you _and_ respect you for it."

E.J. chewed her lip, fascinated with her mug of tea.

"What if they ask about you?" she inquired.

"Huh?"

"Well, you're with me all the time—"

"Family friend."

"And around the orphanages, usually—"

"Business partner."

"And not that we'd make the society pages, but you never know. Millionaires turn up in there all the time, and we're frequently out and about, socializing—"

"Best gal pal?"

"But… you're more to me than that."

"I know," Anna stated. "I do… I just… If asked about me, say 'no comment', for now. We'll be more… careful, in public, at least while we're at home. But if we're in a club in Reykjavik, I'm gonna play grab-ass and probably make out with you while we're dancing."

"I don't dance."

"You do with me," Anna challenged.

"Regardless, are you saying we should… consider disclosing? Our relationship—"

"Which—?"

"Our _sibling _relationship," E.J. amended. "The company is growing. Kai's said we've had a lot more offers for press, but I've turned some of them down because they're interested in me. And in _us, _by extension. We want to help, but we can't get too big, can't set off any red flags. That tax audit last year caught us completely off-guard."

"I know, I was there. You didn't leave the computer for four days, readjusting—"

"Altering. Call a spade a spade."

"Fine, _altering_ the IRS reports."

"And then there was the fact that I was _at_ the exhibition last night."

"This is the first time we've robbed an event that you attended," Anna said. "It's not like we make a habit of it. There's no trail for authorities to follow if it's an isolated incident."

"Still."

E.J. took Anna's dirtied hand in her own and braided their fingers together. The swaying swing creaked softly, shaking E.J. from her thoughts: "We don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"But no attention will look equally suspicious," Anna countered. "Especially with an international non-profit like ours. We'll just have to be vigilant, watch what they print. Maybe even hack their systems, change their stories before they go to press."

E.J. raised the mug to her lips and took another sip.

"This is all hypothetical, though," she said. "I don't want you worrying too much about it."

"I'll always worry if you're worried," Anna answered, brushing her finger over E.J.'s knuckle. "I care, you know."

"I know. I do, too. And that's why I brought it up in the first place," E.J. said. "I don't want to have to—ugh, it's just so _stupid._"

"What? What's wrong?"

"I don't want to have to curtail my behavior for the sake of the press. Not that that will happen, this is just a single story, in one metro paper. You know me and my mind, I'm always—"

"Fourteen steps ahead, I know," Anna finished. "What set this off?"

"_Forbes_ did a profile of the fifty top women in American business. CEOs, managers, people whose net worth eclipsed their circumstances. I just… in five years time, I don't want reporters knocking on our doors and shouting personal questions."

"Well, that's quite a ways away, isn't it? Five years time?"

"We need to be prepared, Anna."

"We also need to be a little more humble, E.J.," Anna said. "Not that I don't think you're brilliant, and perfectly capable of becoming a high-profile philanthropist, but you're hardly Bill Gates. Let's do the one interview for the local paper, and worry about our story when Anderson Cooper gives you a call."

"Fine then. But when I can't hold your hand and kiss you because we've preemptively let slip our sororal relation, I don't expect to hear any complaining from you."

"You wanna kiss me where everybody can see?" Anna asked, scooching closer to E.J. on the swing.

"_Not _with you filthy as a garden rabbit. Besides, we both need to get ready for the game this afternoon. I'm meeting the features reporter at the gate, and you've got to be there to help Beverley wrangle the kids. I can only imagine the ensuing ruckus as soon as they set eyes on Rockey the Redbird."

"Ha! Forget them, I'm getting my picture with him first."

"Anna—"

"Yes, yes, I mean for the children," Anna corrected. She waited for E.J. to finish her tea, and then:

"It seems only reasonable we should conserve time by showering together."

"Anna!"

"You have an objection? Need I remind you, you haven't seen me in two whole weeks?"

"… fair point. Do I get to—"

"—take the overalls off of me?" Anna finished with a salacious wiggle of her eyebrows.

E.J.'s eyes gleamed, her secret smirk reserved for Anna alone surfacing from behind a ceramic mug, the letters E and J crudely formed from the hands of a six-year-old orphan in one of Anna's crafts classes. It was E.J.'s favorite mug. And she was smiling Anna's favorite smile, right over the lip of the cup. Anna was working on stealing that smile and keeping it in her pocket; that way, when E.J. was off saving the world, she could pull it out and hold it in her hands, taking comfort in its fervent warmth.

Anna had yet to succeed in holding any smile captive. So she relished every grin E.J. bestowed upon her, despite how difficult they were to filch.

"You betcha," Anna answered.

"Race you to the bathroom?"

"You're on, sister."

* * *

><p>Water streams pelted her back while E.J. wiped smeared dirt from her face with a washcloth.<p>

"You know, in Central America, they don't have gas water heaters," Anna said.

"Have you been watching _Jeopardy _again?" E.J. asked, sliding to her knees. Suds trickled off of her alabaster shoulders and onto the patterned squares of tile underfoot.

Slippery warmth and soapy streaks ran down Anna's naked abdomen, dribbling bubbles curling over her hips and floating down her parted legs.

"No, I'm just saying, they don't have external tanks in a lot of the countries down there. The heater is electric, and it's normally _inside _of the shower head."

"That seems… dangerous."

"Half the time there's exposed wires and electrical tape. They call them suicide showers."

"What's your point?"

"I don't live in Latin America, but I take _a lot _of suicide showers," Anna said with a wink.

"Careful with that cheek, or you'll be showering _and_ sleeping alone."

Anna ran her hands over E.J's. saturated hair. "Two weeks, remember? Please?" she pouted.

"Fine," E.J. said, curling her fingers over the backs of Anna's thighs. "But I'm starting to wonder about your thing with showerheads."

Anna couldn't form a clever retort until several minutes later.

Post-orgasmic cleanliness was, in Anna's opinion, the best type of sanitation.

* * *

><p>They departed within the hour from their home and met Beverley, Kai, Lawrence, Cynthia, and a gaggle of children near The Majestic and walked north to Union Avenue. After multiple shouted edicts of "Find your buddy!" and "Headcount time!", the crew from the Arendelle Children's School of Art and Technology bottlenecked around the turnstiles of AutoZone Park. Rockey was indeed present, in all of his crimson mascot glory, and a group photo was summarily posed for and snapped, to be displayed reverently on the refrigerator in the kids' home. E.J. had spotted the features writer and ushered him aside under the pavilion, leaving Anna and the school staff to herd thirty and some odd kids onto the left field green.<p>

"Okay everybody, want to do a warm-up?" Anna asked, and then began: "High on a hill, was a lonely goatherd—"

The heavy groans and slaps of children plugging their ears stopped Anna's song, and sent the children scattering amongst the various activities set up on the left field boardwalk.

"Miss Anna?"

"Yes, Damien?"

"I'm nervous."

"Oh, don't be. Blake and Chelsea are going to be with you the whole time!"

"But what if I mess up?"

"You won't mess up."

"But it's that part… 'through the pair of desks flight'—"

"Perilous fight."

"Per-i-lous."

"It means… dangerous. Kinda scary. Like, taking a big risk, you know?" Anna said. "Like singing in front of all these people? That's perilous, in a way. But you know, that song's about really brave people who fought for something they believed in. And you want to know a secret?" Anna whispered, and crouched down close to the little boy's ear. "I believe in you."

Damien cracked a hundred-watt grin, then shuffled off with a lady from the Chamber of Commerce and the manager of the stadium. Anna waved to the dark-skinned eight-year-old, holding two thumbs-up as he and his schoolmates crunched across the outfield warning track.

Anna tried to look up at the boxes above the third base line, but her position in left field afforded an inadequate angle for sneaking a peek at E.J.'s progress. She could talk E.J. up, school her in human interaction as best she could, but the elder sister all too frequently came off a little reserved, a little cool to people other than Anna.

In truth, Anna didn't really care. She was constantly struck by gratitude, by how grateful she felt for having the chance to know the woman so intimately when no one else did. A masterpiece all for herself. Considering she'd returned the majority of her stolen art collection to their respective owners and proprietors, Anna sought the picturesque beauty of art in kinetic life, not painted stills. E.J.'s movements about the house were observed, catalogued, and then replayed during her absences. Anna's possessiveness felt justified, and she was unapologetic.

They neither allowed the other to become their time's monopoly, but when they were together, they were very much _together_. No calls from work. No impromptu jobs. Just the two of them, talking, eating, binge-watching Netflix, tanning beachside, hiking up the face of a volcano, staring at artwork in museums for hours on end (if E.J. was feeling particularly obliging).

Anna was really looking forward to this vacation.

It took her several minutes to unfurl the blanket she'd brought in her bag. Some of the older children roped her into throwing the baseball against the radar gun, the measly 40 mph a source of supreme amusement for Henry, one of the kids on the cusp of teenagerhood. He'd likely be a troublemaker. Anna saw far too many common characteristics between him and a younger version of herself. Good thing he was enrolled in E.J.'s after-school digital programming track. Leave him with a control board and a soldering gun and _maybe_ he'll escape a life of delinquency.

There really were no assurances.

Blake, Damien, and Chelsea trotted out in front of home plate, the microphone set about a foot from the trio of eight-year-olds. After a quick introduction, they started in on the national anthem. And it wasn't tears stinging for Anna, but the afternoon sun prickling insistently at her eyelids. She smiled a watery smile and sat down upon the blanket with a frozen lemonade in hand, entertaining the odd child as they approached her throughout the first two innings.

E.J. joined her at the top of the third, sitting with decorous grace beside her on the blanket. She tucked her pale legs underneath the hem of her sundress and sighed heavily.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Well, I think," E.J. answered.

"What do you mean 'you think'?"

"I might have swore when Oklahoma got that double play."

"Might have?" Anna asked.

"As in, 'definitely did'. But he was on his way out of the box, I don't know if he heard me."

"Perhaps he'll print something along the lines of, 'beautiful, benevolent blonde boss of non-profit is also bad-mouthing baseball babe.'"

"You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"I would. But I've got something _you're_ going to love!"

"What the—"

"Ta-da!" Anna said, mashing the blue topper onto E.J.'s head.

It was the Connecticut Tigers baseball cap Anna had purchased for her years ago. On their… their first date.

"Anna, where did you find this?"

"In your apartment."

"My apartment?"

"The one in Manhattan…?"

"I never went back—"

"I know. But I did. I… didn't want to leave it there. It… meant a lot to me. I came across it last week, dug it out of the closet."

A bat cracked and the crowd cheered, but E.J. fixed steadfast attention on the ball cap in her hands.

"It means a lot to me, too," E.J. said, gliding her fingers over the flat bill. She plunked it down atop her head and tugged it into place. "How do I look?"

"You don't have to wear it if you don't—"

"It means even more to me that you went back for it," E.J. said. "I suppose I should have made the connection, what with the paintings hanging— God, what the hell does he call a strike zone, the perimeter of an index card?"

"E.J., what—"

"It's like the ump's never seen a curve ball before," E.J. huffed dispiritedly. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her face to what Anna deemed, 'adorably pouty'.

"I've created a monster," Anna said.

"Who would've known baseball statistics could be such a thrilling exercise! It's more complex than card-counting—"

"Yeah, and now we're never allowed back in the casino buffet at Tunica—"

"—and allows for workplace camaraderie. I've decided to institute Fantasy Football challenges at the home office and L.A. division this year."

"What if they don't watch football?" Anna questioned.

"It builds morale!" E.J. protested.

"You just want to be commissioner."

"… I don't see your point."

"You rarely do, even when I use my index finger."

"You're incorrigible."

"You're perfect," Anna said, and rested her head on E.J.'s shoulder.

"Hardly."

"For me. Perfect for me."

After some shouting on Anna's part, and another frozen lemonade to combat the summer heat, E.J. yawned into her hand sometime around the top of the sixth.

"You're tired?" Anna asked.

"No, just… still adjusting."

"You want to ditch this shindig for something swankier?"

E.J. turned her attention from the baseball diamond. "What did you have in mind?"

"You know that NOLA restaurant you like so much? The one with the dark chocolate beignets and Catfish Orleans?"

"Tiana's place!"

"Yep."

"Of course, she's opening her expansion tonight on Beale—Anna you didn't! The grand opening has been full for weeks!"

"Really? They must have a problem with their electronic reservations list."

"Anna—"

"It's just a restaurant list, hardly financial accounts or criminal profiles."

"You'll be hacking the CIA in no time," E.J. said, rising from the blanket.

Anna grinned, a little proud, a little embarrassed. They packed their blanket and game-day bag up, storing it in their private box on the way out of the park. They would be back before the end of the season to remove it from the locker, so the pair scampered five blocks back to their house to change.

* * *

><p>The sun was setting low over the river when they were led to a table overlooking the western side of Tiana's jazzy new restaurant, platters of southern favorites arranged buffet-style on the open air deck of the building. Anna could hear the dinner-time rumblings below on Beale Street, a steel guitar twanging into tune and the sizzle of barbque ribs slathered with honeyed sauces on a slow-roasting grill. Lilacs and burnt oranges and ferocious pinks streaked and blotted the southern sky, an atmospheric Jackson Pollock on display.<p>

Anna sipped a Yuengling and E.J. took a Sprite. They were on vacation, after all.

E.J. told stories of Ghana, cultural differences, abandonment statistics, educational stigmas.

Anna contributed with interested and attentive inquiries, providing a 'bigger picture' aspect when E.J. threatened to consume herself in the details.

But then beignets arrived and there was no more talk of work: the sun had set fully and large bulbs on string lights brightened the outdoor deck. The jazz band in the corner struck up a tune, and the girls held hands and chucked powdered sugar at each other's faces as the day died peacefully. The daylight seemed amenable to ending, just so the unique pair relishing a summer day could revel in their fortune as a new night commenced.

Anna felt the pinch of wanting, of lack, of the inability to sweep E.J. into her arms and slow-dance while the obo droned and the drum rat-a-tat-tatted. Because with a paper story coming out and E.J. overly cautious… they still had their issues. Problems they could likely circumvent, like most of their past problems, with time, communication, maybe an argument or two, and then a resolution.

Anna stared at her plate of powdered sugar, snowy-sweet confections piled inches high on her plate. She wondered if this feeling she possessed was something 'adults' felt. For she certainly didn't feel grown-up, didn't feel… complacent?

There was contentment, happiness, satisfaction— and then there was stagnation. She was not pond algae, but sediment, chipped and worn from rock and whisked downstream on an adventure, still flowing. She had yet to reach the Gulf, and intended to enjoy her journey as she traveled. She hadn't started off with a companion, but somewhere, somehow, the tides had shifted and the river god or fate or whoever had seen fit to pair her with a chipped, fragmented bit of dirt from the selfsame rock she was cut from. And their differences weren't so alienating that they couldn't appreciate the other for their talents (as they would have never made it this far downstream without the other). No, it was an acknowledgement of divergences and commonalities that could not be denied, lest they disagree and end up wandering down separate tributaries. Anna was worn and rough, but she knew, because of the girl beside her, that the roughest bit of rock worked with and sanded over time could turn into the clearest, purest gem stone.

Just time.

Give it time.

They walked home that evening, and Anna read off the itinerary for Iceland that E.J. had typed up. E.J. wanted to start packing, but Anna insisted they hold off, especially since E.J. had yet to unpack from her trip to Ghana and looked patently exhausted. All this flying certainly took its toll on the older girl, which was why Anna had wanted to take her out to an easy dinner, and had gone through the trouble of finding her old hat. Just little things, inconsequential when compared with a stolen tiara. But she tried, daily, to be worthy of her sister. Even if it was just in practical offerings of affection, she tried.

They had been separated for far too long for her not to put forth an effort.

At half past ten, Anna stood, popped her back, and saluted her departure.

"Turning in, captain."

"I'll come, too."

"So early for you?" Anna asked.

"Still catching up. It won't help when we get on another new sleep schedule in a few days."

"We'll be there long enough for you to catch up," Anna said, pulling on the overlarge t-shirt from the MoMA that she used as pajamas.

"I hope so." E.J. disappeared into the en suite, Anna following, and the two brushed their teeth at the dual vanities.

Anna fell into bed with an audible 'ooooff!'

"What was that?" E.J. asked.

"Nothing. I think my shoulders got sunburned at the game."

"Did you use your sunscreen? There was some in the bag."

"I forgot."

"Well, you're not the only one in pain. I didn't have time to stretch before crawling in those vents the other night, or when I went through the laser grid."

"We're just gonna fall apart at the seams, aren't we?"

"The pair of us, unraveling together… do you want me to get the aloe?"

"Nah. Imma big girl, and it'll peel eventually."

"More freckles," E.J. smiled. "Oh, I forgot your present!"

"Freckles reminded you of my present? You didn't get me African skin care lotion, did you?"

"No, silly. It's a book on West African arts and crafts. Pottery, masks, stuff like that. They have these white dots that made me think of—"

"It sounds great, E.J. Thank you."

"Do you want me to go get it?"

"Nah, I'm tired. Besides, I'll need something to read on the flight."

"'mkay."

"'mkay."

The night progressed in this fashion, murmured observances traded over the landscape of sheets and pillows. The river was dark and murky now, dangerous and swift and ink-black in the heated night outside their windows. It contrasted greatly with the river view of the two Dutch masterpieces hung above Anna and E.J.'s backboard, a permanent golden sun bathing buildings in dawn and twilight from opposite angles. _The Golden Bend_. The only paintings Anna hadn't returned, because they weren't just hers. They were _theirs_. And on those canvases, there was just enough light to appreciate the details. Just enough dark to keep the mystery alive.

Anna wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END<strong>

**(for real this time)**

* * *

><p><em>Hoped you liked the sort-of 'where are they now' aspect of the epilogue. Would love a review if you care to provide one. Thanks again for making Stolen Ice such a fun project.<em>


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